


Doctors are the worst Patients

by storytellerof221b



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bodily Functions, Flu, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:48:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22335814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storytellerof221b/pseuds/storytellerof221b
Summary: John has come down with the flu and Sherlock tries his best to take excellent care of him. Problems arises and Greg steps in, so does Mycroft. In the middle of it all there is John. And being a doctor doesn't help the situation at all.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42





	1. Chapter One

Sherlock felt so bloody fucking helpless while watching John sleep so restlessly. Plus, the noises that John made were just horrible. He sort of blobbed, like drowning in his own slime. It was both disgusting and scary. He wasn't able to swallow because it hurt too much. He just turned his head to the side and it ran out of his mouth. Sherlock wiped it away every few minutes.  
Greg had just left. He had also left him instructions, loads of paracetamol and good tips about what to do for sick people having come down with the flu.  
Now Sherlock was left behind, all alone, only by himself, absolutely clueless and with no idea whatsoever what would be best for John.  
His mobile dinged after a few minutes. Greg had set up the alarm. Actually, there were different alarms now. One was for providing new cold fabric for John's forehead and calves. Another was for making him drink and yet another for administering his different medicines.  
Since John was a doctor, he was also a horrible patient. Plus, he was rather scared that Sherlock, his mad but secretly beloved flatmate, had been left with overtaking his care-taking.

***

John really didn't want to move, but he had to. He desperately needed the loo, needed to piss. Right now. He didn't want to get up, didn't want to move. Not now.  
God, right now!  
He slowly and very carefully moved and only then realised where he was. The soft mattress, the wide space, and the touch of cool fine Egyptian cotton on his skin told him, he was in Sherlock's bed. The “on his skin” part told him; he was naked except for a pair of boxers.  
He rolled over and carefully placed his feet on the hardwood. He hunched his shoulders because of the pain and his eyes were tightly shut. His throat was on fire and his nose was clogged. He was barely able to breathe. He gurgled and started to drool. He hated himself right now.  
He groaned and kept sitting until the room had stopped turning upside-down. Then the door was opened.  
“John, what do you think you are doing?” Sherlock quickly approached him and lowered his head.  
“Bath. Loo.” He chewed out the words and tried to stand. He fell back half way up.  
“Fuck!” He swore throatily.  
“You are not supposed to get up.” John glared at him which didn't work as it normally did since he was glaring from a position down below. Well, actually he always glared at him from that position, but this somehow felt different.  
“Then help me into the bath, for God’s sake. Because I am not letting you stuck my cock into a bottle, Sherlock.” Said one considerably paled. Nothing had him prepared for this. He had never thought about this, when it came to taking care of John. Greg hadn't said anything about the bath. But he so wanted to help. He also was very stubborn.  
“Well, in case you fall and hurt yourself, I will call an ambulance and take you into hospital.” He said.  
“I will not fall if you help me.” They locked eyes and Sherlock finally helped him up. Together they shuffled into the bath.  
“Give me some privacy, please?” John's eyes were on Sherlock again and he made a step back and turned around. John made a growling sound at his back and he left the bath. He closed the door and intently listened. He was able to hear him use the loo and then wash his hands.  
“Come in, please?” John was sweaty and leaned hard on the sink. Sherlock hurried to his side and helped him back. He didn't comment though and John was glad he didn't. He brought him more water and his meds since it was time anyway. John grumbled but took it and Sherlock pulled up the blanket.  
“There you are. Please sleep now.” Sherlock reached out as if he wanted to move his hair off his forehead, but didn't. Instead he just left the bedroom. His bedroom. He sighed. He looked around and had no idea what to do. He felt like playing his violin, but he would disturb John, would wake him up. Not good.  
Perhaps he should rest, too. Only for a bit? He checked his mobile. The next alarm was due in two hours’ time. He really should rest. He slumped on the sofa and closed his eyes.  
But he couldn't sleep. He listened towards the bedroom. Possible noises. Coughing. Throwing up. He had no idea what to expect. He wasn't able to relax.

***

John was exhausted. His throat hurt and so did his chest and head. He actually was glad he could rest in Sherlock's bed. But he was also surprised. He wasn't able to remember how he got here.  
He somehow felt sorry how he had reacted to Sherlock. He knew, he had meant well. And now he felt like being sick. He also was dizzy.  
He sat up and tried to call out.  
“Sh'lock ...” He coughed up some bile. Right then Sherlock dashed inside holding a large bowl. John threw up right into it and Sherlock held him, held his head, and stayed by his side until he was done. Then he took it away and brought him water to rinse his mouth.  
John was very exhausted and clung to Sherlock's arm.  
“Please, stay?” He barely got the words out by now, but Sherlock stayed. He held him and carded through his hair until John fell asleep.  
Sherlock was able to both feel and hear John's restricted ability to breath. And he kept holding him even though he knew, he had fallen asleep. But he just needed to hold him. He didn't want to let go.  
A few hours later his back hurt and he needed the loo, too. He gently placed John back under the blanket and he didn't wake. He stood and quickly used the bath, even freshened up a bit, too.  
He checked his mobile afterwards. The next alarm to put cold fabric on John's body was almost due so Sherlock started to prepare them right away.  
He put them on John's forehead and around his calves. He could feel him relax a bit. He took his temperature and wrote it into his notebook. It didn't get any better, not really. And he knew, if the fever wouldn't get down a bit until tomorrow morning, he would have to move him into hospital. And he would hate him for doing so! He didn't want John to hate him! But what else could he do? Nothing!  
When it was time, he gently woke John up and got him some more meds and water, too. John was weak as a kitten and rested heavily against him, when he fed him the pills and made him drink.  
Afterwards he settled into the armchair he had moved into his bedroom and listened to John cough and wheeze through the night. He also threw up twice more and even though it wasn't more than water, Sherlock hated it. He also felt very bad about it.  
He woke again when he sensed someone else in his bedroom. He shot up and fell back at once.  
“Lestrade ...” He groaned quietly.  
“Yes, shut up and stay put.” He was changing John's cold fabric right now and John moved slowly under the blanket. Then he took his temperature and frowned.  
“What about before, Sherlock?” He just shook his head and Greg frowned.  
“Get up. We need him to cool down or he has to go to hospital.” Sherlock swayed over.  
“No ...” John moaned from the bed.  
“No hospital ...” He weakly moved his hands through the air, but Greg just snorted.  
“Shut up, John. We will cool you down. So don't make a fuss.” And he reached for his boxers pulling them down.  
“Sherlock, come over here and help me.” Sherlock did as being told for once and didn't argue. Actually, he was quite happy, that Greg knew what to do and made him do it.  
Both men managed to drag John under the shower and they all stood there when Sherlock turned on the water. Soon they were all drenched, but they didn't mind as long as it would help John.  
Greg had also met Molly and she had given him flu meds to inject. They would work better or so she had said.  
“As sad as it is, but I know much better how to do this, Greg.” Greg muttered something nasty, but let him work. He watched him and noticed how very gentle he was with John.  
John also watched Sherlock and his eyes were blown wide, but he didn't say a single word. He just closed his eyes when he was done.  
“Go back to sleep, John.” Sherlock whispered and took the used things away to bin them separately. Greg's eyes followed him. John was asleep when Sherlock returned.


	2. Chapter Two

Greg woke and the room was all dark. He felt around himself and there was a blanket on top of him. He was naked. Well. He started to think and remembered. Then he sighed and slowly got up to look for his clothes.  
And suddenly he heard steps coming up.  
“Bloody hell!” He thought and wondered who could that be? He quickly stood and wrapped the blanket around his body and chest. Then he wearily eyed the door feeling utterly exposed.  
Very slowly the door was pushed open and Mycroft Holmes appeared. A fact that did let Greg absolutely not relax.  
“Mycroft?” He whispered and their eyes met. But then Mycroft's eyes wandered over his blanket clad body and Greg was very glad about the dark. He saw his eyes glinting and swallowed.  
“Gregory, good night. I am sorry, if I woke you. Where is my darling brother?” He asked.  
“Watching John.” Greg answered and Mycroft looked thoughtful.  
“What do you want here?” He put some strength on the “you” and Mycroft raised a brow.  
“I wanted to see, if you need anything.” He nonchalantly shrugged.  
“In the middle of the night? Please!” Greg moved towards the kitchen and poured a water. He felt Mycroft's eyes burning into his back.  
“It was the only time-slot I had. Forgive me, if it is inconvenient.” He replied acidly.  
“Well, now since you are here, you could write your shopping-list?” Greg grinned looking into the fridge.  
“As you wish, Detective Inspector.” He got out a notebook just like the one Sherlock used and also a pen.  
“Fresh fruits, some vegetables, water and juice. Basics like potatoes and rice, perhaps some lamb. A new fully stocked med-kit, new meds for John. Oh, and perhaps you could make one of your minions go to the cleaner to get my suit cleaned.” Mycroft looked at him.  
“What happened?” He asked having stopped writing.  
“Sherlock and I had to cool down John under the shower and I got soaked. I can't bloody well go to work covered in a blanket, can I?” Greg sounded annoyed. Mycroft smirked and lowered his head.  
“You could have undressed, couldn't you?” He twirled the pen between his fingers in a shockingly fast motion that made Greg feel dizzy.  
“It was an emergency! And if it is too much, just pick up a new suit from my place. Please?” He got his keys from the coffee table and dangled it in front of Mycroft's nose. He snatched it from his hands.  
“Of course, dear Gregory. I will take care of everything. I will now go and see my brother. At least he won't yell at me while John is ill and needs quiet and peace.” He sighed.  
Greg's keys disappeared into his pocket and he just walked right into Sherlock's bedroom. Greg made a few hesitant steps after him and listened for any noises of distress.  
Inside Sherlock glared at his brother, but didn't say a word. Mycroft raised a brow. Both men looked at John's sleeping figure then. He still coughed now and again and his breathing was constricted. Mycroft leaned over and took his pulse. He looked worried.  
“This is not good, Sherlock.” He whispered.  
“I know that, thank you very much. But what more can I do? He doesn't want to go to hospital, but I won't have another choice. Not even the injections have worked so far.” Sherlock had stood by now and joined his brother's side.  
“Do you remember what mummy did when I had the flu?” They locked eyes and suddenly Sherlock's widened.  
“Yes! She made you sweat horribly and it was awful.” He grinned.  
“But it helped.” Mycroft said and they both nodded.  
“I'll get the blanket from the sofa.” Sherlock turned around but was stopped.  
“I wouldn't recommend that because Lestrade is dressed in it.”  
“Excuse me?” Sherlock said and dashed outside right away. Greg looked at him.  
“What's wrong?” Greg asked and Sherlock reached out.  
“I need the blanket. Get something else to wear. Oh, and also pick up John's bedding from upstairs.” Greg held on to the blanket when Sherlock started to pull.  
“I have to wait until your brother gets me something to wear. I gave him my keys already.” They both pulled at the blanket now.  
“Get something from John then. It should be fine for the time being.” Greg tore himself away.  
“I will do so right now. Just be patient for a moment, OK?” Greg glared at him and Sherlock glared back. Then Greg moved upstairs and shed the blanket. The moment he opened the drawer, Sherlock already was inside and snatched the blanket from the floor. He also got the bedding in a swift move. By the door he stopped for just a second and looked at Greg's body.  
“Oh, my brother will hate the fact, that he didn't pick this up.” He chuckled once and left the room.  
“What?” Greg asked but was left behind already. He shook his head and looked back into the drawer. He held a pair of boxers, but they obviously were too small. He sighed and chose track pants. They were too short but fit him around the middle plus they had strings. He found a t-shirt which showed his belly-button but clung firmly to his body. He looked into the mirror and was rather pleased with what he saw.  
Downstairs he found Mycroft brewing tea and he joined him collecting a mug for John. Only then he realised that Mycroft had sort of gotten comfy. He was without his jacket and waistcoat. His shirt was folded up over his elbows and both sides looked exactly the same. Greg stared at his naked arms and found it utterly nice. Sexy even.  
He licked his lips and then noticed, that Mycroft looked at him, as well. His eyes were locked on the part of skin beneath the hem of his t-shirt where his belly-button was on display.  
All of a sudden, the kettle started to whistle and Mycroft once blinked and poured the water over the tea-bags. He cleared his throat. Greg shoved the honey and milk over.  
“We will probably need your help, Gregory. I don't think John will be very pleased with the idea of being made sweaty.” Mycroft picked up the mug and turned around.  
“No, not like this he won't.” Greg grinned and it caused a crinkle around Mycroft's eyes. Both men entered the bedroom. Sherlock had shed his dressing-gown and was clad in pyjamas and an old t-shirt. John was awake and glared at the intruders. At least he tried.  
“I am hot already. I don't need more heat.” He croaked it out.  
“You need to sweat it out. Or you will go to hospital.” Greg said, but John shook his head.  
“John, please don't be stupid.” Mycroft said and John bared his teeth.  
“Mycroft will make you!” Sherlock said. John snorted.  
Greg saw, that Sherlock was desperate and close to a crying fit. He moved up.  
“John, please. Be responsible. You normally are.” He stuck the thermometer into his ear and raised a brow.  
“Just so you know. If you won't let us do this, you will go to hospital. End of discussion.” Snot ran from John's nose and Mycroft handed over the tissue-box. He blew his nose and coughed loudly. It didn't sound too good.  
“Please drink your tea.” Mycroft handed it over and John took it.  
“It isn't poisoned, right?” John asked and made Sherlock smile sadly. His hands were fisted around the hem of John's bedding and he lightly shook. He had dark rings under his eyes and they were red-rimmed.  
John drank the tea and Sherlock relaxed a little bit.  
“Help me into the bath once more before this.” John started to move and Sherlock moved out of the way. Greg supported him and this time John had to sit down. Greg left the door a bit ajar and stayed outside.  
John was able to wash his hands by himself and shuffled back out. Greg helped him getting comfortable and then they placed the blankets around him. Soon John was getting hot and he started to complain.  
Sherlock put ice-cubes into a plastic-bag and wrapped it into a small towel. He placed it on John's head whose teeth started to shatter. His eyes were unfocused. He didn't see in how much pain Sherlock was.  
Greg looked at Sherlock and then at Mycroft. Mycroft took over and Greg concentrated on Sherlock.  
“You need to rest, Sherlock. Please come outside.” He gently took his wrist and pulled him away.  
“But I promised to help him. I can't leave him, Greg. I can't fail him. I am of no use ...” He still shook.  
Greg made him sit on the sofa and looked at him.  
“How long haven't you eaten?” Greg asked and Sherlock shrugged.  
“I can't remember.” He roughly whispered. At first, he made him drink water and Sherlock drank. He slumped into the cushions, but Greg shook his head.  
“No, I will prepare something for you. Don't fall asleep now. You can sleep after you have eaten.”  
“Mother-hen.” Sherlock glared but had no real strength for anything really mean. And he actually didn't want to be mean to Greg. Greg was helping him. What would he do without him?  
Greg smiled fondly and placed a plate with a huge sandwich on the table in front of Sherlock.  
“Here you go.” Sherlock realised right then how hungry he was. He devoured the sandwich and wiped his mouth. He expectantly looked at Greg who grinned.  
“John has spoiled you.” But he prepared a second one. And Sherlock ate it. Afterwards his eyes drooped.  
“Go to sleep for a while. We will watch over John. Don't worry, OK?” Greg had found another blanket and placed it over Sherlock's thin body. He was asleep in a second.  
Greg looked at him for a few minutes and watched the way his face relaxed. It smoothed his features and made him look years younger.  
Quietly he moved back into the bedroom where he found Mycroft taking John's temperature again. He turned around the minute he got in.  
“Get new ice, please?” He asked him.  
“Sure.” Greg nodded and fetched it from the freezer. Both men looked at John who was sweating a lot. Greg sat down on John's other side.  
“Why are you here?” He quietly asked but looked at John's face.  
“Because this man saved my brother. Forgive me, Gregory, I know you did, too. But I know that Sherlock loves John. Only he can't tell. I can't let anything happen to Dr Watson. I need to keep him alive.”  
“Don't stutter. I know what you mean.” Now they looked at each other. They locked eyes over the body of John Watson. Very slowly Greg reached out for Mycroft who in turn lifted his arm to find Greg's skin. Their hands met over John's stomach and their fingers entangled. Greg looked very much surprised, but both men smiled at each other.  
“Later, when ...” Greg started, but Mycroft shook his head.  
“Yes, when the time is only meant for us. Then.” They both leaned forwards and their heads almost touched. They were separated from John's coughing fit.  
“Bloody hell!” Greg exclaimed. It made Mycroft grin and it was a sight Greg loved. He stood.  
“More ice.” Mycroft nodded and looked at his retreating form. He tilted his head and licked his lips.  
“Hot, isn't it?” John croaked out a laugh and made Mycroft blush. Then he glared at him.  
“What did you hear?” Mycroft asked and lifted John up so he could drink and administer another injection. Of course, Mycroft knew how to do this.  
“Enough to feed Sherlock's gossipy self.” He sneezed several times and had to blow his nose a lot.  
“Just don't. Please?” Mycroft quietly said and looked at him.  
“You could always blame it on the fever, you know?” But he smiled even though it was a bit weak.  
“How are you feeling, John?” Mycroft asked arranging the bedding a bit.  
“Hot. My head hurts and so does my chest. Actually, my whole body hurts.” Mycroft hummed and took his temperature again.  
“We still need to lower your temperature. So far nothing has helped.”  
“Fill the tub with ice. Put me in there. That would be the last try and error. If that doesn't help, take me to hospital and I won't fight.” Mycroft looked at him and raised a brow.  
“Very well. I will arrange for loads of ice to be brought in.” He pulled out his mobile and started to text.  
“Where is Sherlock?” John croaked out.  
“He needed to sleep and eat. Greg takes care of him. I believe, he is on the sofa in the living-room.” Mycroft replied.  
“How long have I been out and he hasn't slept or eaten?” John asked sounding worried.  
“Too long for the both of you. That's why Greg and I are here. Now stop worrying.”  
“How could I ever?” John blew his nose. Mycroft sighed.  
“Yes, how could we?” Mycroft fondly looked at him. Greg returned and brought more ice. An hour later loads of ice was delivered and Sherlock woke. He swayed into the bedroom.  
“What's all this?” His eyes were only half open and he had to lean against the frame.  
“I will take an ice-bath. Don't worry.” John tried to soothe him.  
“I thought, you were meant to sweat? That was the plan when I went to sleep!” He accusingly looked around.  
“It was, brother-mine. But John suggested an ice-bath as the last trial. If it doesn't work, he will go to hospital.”  
“I completely failed.” Sherlock slid down the wooden frame and sat on his behind. He covered his face.  
“You did not fail. Do you hear me?” John tried to sit up but didn't manage. He groaned.  
“Yes, I did. You didn't get better! I am not good enough!” He finally broke down and started to cry.  
“Sherlock, no! Please? Get a grip on yourself, please? You can't leave me alone in hospital!” Sherlock sobbed but looked up.  
“You still want to see me?” He sobbed some more. John tried to reach out for him but groaned heavily.  
“Of course!” Then he fell back into the cushions and had to close his eyes. All of a sudden Sherlock was by his side and knelt on the bed.  
“You will never get rid of me, John. Never.”  
“Get off of him, Sherlock.” Greg covered John's head in more ice. Mycroft's mobile dinged and he got up to open the door when more ice was delivered.  
Sherlock helped John lower into the tub filled with ice. He obviously shuddered, but it seemed more in delight than in pain. They all looked at him.  
“Why are you still here? Aren't you supposed to rule the world?” Sherlock asked his brother, but didn't turn his eyes off John.  
“Sometimes there are more important things to arrange.” His eyes flicked over to Greg and his fingers played with the keys. Greg didn't notice. His eyes were on John, too.  
“Really? Such as?” Sherlock desperately needed a vent and Mycroft knew that. So he let him.  
“For instance, getting the Detective Inspector fresh clothes. Or providing half an ice-mountain.” He straightened up and rolled down his sleeves. He cast a last look at John who seemed to be doing fine.  
“See you later.” He left the bath and Greg followed him a second later.  
“Thank you, Mycroft. I mean it.” He held out his hand with the shopping-list he had checked again for any missing items. Mycroft took it and smiled.  
“It's all fine.” He picked up his umbrella and turned around.  
“Mycroft?” Greg said and he looked over his shoulder.  
“Yes?” He asked. Greg blushed a bit under his tan.  
“I never would have thought, you'd really provide ice. Or take care of my clothing. Or go shopping.” He smiled up at him.  
“I have people to run errands for me.” At the sight of Greg's angry face, he quickly added.  
“But not inside your flat. I promise, I will go there myself and pack.” Greg mumbled something while Mycroft dressed back into his waistcoat and jacket.  
“Is that fine with you, Detective Inspector?” Mycroft insisted and made Greg lock eyes again.  
“It sure is, Mr Holmes, Sir. Thank you.” They smiled and Mycroft left.


	3. Chapter Three

Greg returned into the bath to find Sherlock sitting on the edge of the tub staring at John whose eyes were closed.  
“Please don't stare at me like I was a homicide victim.” John croaked it out very roughly, but Greg had to grin. Only Sherlock just started to cry again.  
“How can you say something so cruel?” Tears fell into the water and he angrily wiped over his eyes. John looked at him again.  
“Sherlock!” At once his eyes were on him.  
“Yes, John?” He asked.  
"Stop that, please?" John quietly demanded.  
“But I can't stand it. It's horrible! Like it can become true!” He pulled a face.  
“I am sorry, OK? I didn't mean to hurt you.” He choked on some spit and almost coughed his lungs out. The ice-cubes were rattling inside the tub and it was a weird sound. Sherlock only could helplessly stare at him until it was over.  
Greg joined them and brought tea with honey. John downed it and it got better.  
“Loads of ice has already melted. We need to refill this. Pull the plug, Sherlock until the water is gone.” Sherlock was happy he could do something. His eyes were on the swirling water and absolutely not on John's naked body on his right. He only heard his wheezing, coughing, and heaving. It sounded horrible. Now and again he also groaned.  
“Sherlock, put the plug back in, will you?” Sherlock's head shot up. Greg was back holding several bags containing ice-cubes. He ripped them open one after the other and poured the ice into the tub.  
“Gods, Greg, be careful! You are hitting John!” Sherlock hissed and glared and stuck his hands into the tub moving the ice all over John.  
Greg just grinned and emptied all the bags. Then he left again and Sherlock kept kneeling by the tub moving the ice around.  
“Sherlock? Look at me, please?” John croaked it out and very slowly Sherlock turned his head. He didn't meet John's eyes though.  
“What do you need, John?” Sherlock asked staring at a point on the tiles close to John's head.  
“Pour me something hot, please?” He coughed again and it sounded horrible. Sherlock quickly stood.  
“Greg? Put the kettle on, please. John wants tea!” He yelled his demand.  
“Done!” Greg yelled back and he heard him move about. But then he entered the bath again.  
“I have prepared the mugs and the water is about to boil. Go and get it. I'll stay here.” He carried some more bags with ice. Sherlock quickly left and avoided looking at John.  
John looked at Greg and he looked hurt.  
“What's wrong with him?” He asked roughly looking at Greg.  
“He is confused. And he is angry with himself because he isn't able to help you.” Greg sat on the tub's edge.  
“But he took great care of me. I admit, I was rather scared at the beginning but soon found he did everything needed. He took it very seriously.” John coughed again and the cubes rattled.  
“He feels it's not enough. He thinks, he is failing you, John. He cares so deeply for you and he can't barely stand it, you hurting so much.” Now it was John looking all confused.  
“What?” He coughed out and Greg just shook his head standing up again when Sherlock returned holding John's mug.  
“I have added honey into it for your throat. It's supposed to help your aching throat.” John took the mug and had to hold it with both hands. He croaked out his thanks and carefully sipped it. He closed his eyes in delight and Sherlock relaxed again.  
They kept John in the tub until the ice was gone. Quickly they helped him out and no one cared about being naked anymore. Sherlock somehow had arranged for very warm pyjamas and pulled them over John's limp legs and arms. Then he pulled up the blanket again.  
Greg brought the thermometer and he grinned triumphantly.  
“Much better now! See that it stays that way, John.” Sherlock wrote the temperature into his little book and relaxed some more. John fell asleep looking a bit better. Sherlock sat on the armchair and watched him. Greg finally poured Sherlock a drink.  
“Here, you need it. Sleep a bit. I'll be outside, if you need me.” Sherlock smiled up at him and took the drink. Then he pulled his long legs under and Greg brought him a spare blanket. And when he had a look after half an hour for the both of them, Sherlock was fast asleep and drooling on his dress-shirt he had on because all his pyjamas were soaked wet.  
Greg grinned and quickly took a picture with his mobile. He was still grinning when pouring a drink for himself. He was wide awake by now and just waited for Mycroft to return. He was excited about everything, that had come up with said man. He still remembered his bare forearms, his very pale and freckled forearms, with blue veins standing out strongly. They might have been rather skinny but nonetheless quite muscled.  
Greg licked his lips thinking of Mycroft's expression when he had been staring at his naked skin revealed by John's too small clothes on his body.  
And then he heard his quiet footsteps coming up again. He expectantly eyed the door and wasn't disappointed. Mycroft entered the room carrying Greg's old sports bag and two plastic-bags containing food.  
Greg stood and closed the door behind him. Only then he took his clothes and sighed.  
“Thank you so much.” His fingers brushed over Mycroft's when taking the bag from him. He heard his breath hitch and felt his fingers twitch. He locked eyes with him and saw the colour rising up to his cheekbones that were equally ridiculous just like Sherlock's were.  
“I hope everything is to your likings?” Mycroft cleared his throat and kept just standing there.  
“I am sure it will be. Sit down and have a drink now.” He took his bony wrist and pulled him over to the sofa. Mycroft was too surprised to protest and just sat. He even took the drink without a word. Greg threw himself by his side into the cushions and tilted his head.  
“So?” He said with his boyish smile. Mycroft raised a brow.  
“So?” He hid his confusion behind his perfect mask.  
“Where is the spark?” Greg asked inching closer. The question made Mycroft swallow.  
“Excuse me? I don't seem to understand the words coming out of your mouth.” He took a large gulp.  
“You have been staring at my naked skin. I have been staring at yours. You are attracted to me.” Mycroft sputtered indignantly and quickly emptied his tumbler. He didn't look at Greg.  
“I would like to meet you in private. Only the two of us. My place. I provide food and drink.” Greg offered.  
“Why would you like to do that?” Mycroft asked.  
“Why do you pretend to be so thick? Just admit it!” Greg was very close now.  
“Admit what?” By now Mycroft pressed his body back into the sofa to avoid Greg. He was confused. Very much so.  
“Gods, you are thick. Even thicker than your brother is regarding John.” He placed his tumbler on the hardwood and fisted Mycroft's lapels. He pulled him close and pressed his lips on Mycroft's.  
Mycroft's tumbler shattered on the hardwood but he melted into Greg's hands. His thin lips opened for Greg and soon his mouth got plundered. Now it was Greg who pressed him into the cushions.  
The moment though when Greg palmed his crotch, he tensed and tried to shove him off. And he very clearly told him no.  
“No! Greg, stop it at once!” Mycroft pushed him off and turned his head away. He was panting and looked a bit not good. Greg looked at him and slowly pulled back. Now he was the one looking confused.  
“Did I hurt you? I am sorry. I didn't mean to overstep but you seemed to like it. Forgive me.” He held up his hands in a gesture of peace and moved back.  
“You didn't hurt me. However could you? And I did like it. I liked you holding me, kissing me. But I still … I just can't. Please don't think, I don't like you. Because I do. It's just … I can't.” He shook his head and didn't look at Greg.  
Greg sensed something bad and he wanted to soothe him.  
“Perhaps another drink is in order?” He swung his legs off the sofa and grinned. Then his naked feet crushed into the shards of the broken tumbler.  
“Fuck!” He swore loudly and quickly pulled them off the wood.  
“Oh dear, let me see.” Mycroft said reaching out for his ankles and putting them on his lap. Greg just let him. His feet fucking hurt.  
“Could you pluck the shards out? Our family doctor has gone down with the flu, you see?” Greg tried to joke and now Mycroft looked at him.  
“Of course I could. I am capable of doing so without sawing off parts of your body.” With these words he stood and carefully placed Greg's bleeding feet on a cushion. He shed his jacket and waistcoat and rolled up his shirt sleeves again. Greg watched him. Again, both sides were just the same. Exactly the same. Greg smirked.  
Suddenly Mycroft looked at him and their eyes locked. Then Mycroft very slowly took off his tie and opened the first two buttons of his dress-shirt.  
Greg really wondered about his behaviour. Right now, his aggressive flirting would invite everyone to jump him. Greg normally wouldn't be held back by his bleeding feet. But his reaction had been too clear. He had been scared.  
Now Greg kept holding his gaze until the tie fell down. And only by turning away to grab John's med-kit the spell broke. Greg stared at his moving body and suddenly realised; he was hard. He also realised how tight John's clothes were and how clearly his cock was being seen, how it strained against the tight cotton.  
“Oh, fuck!” He stared down at it and then just yanked down the blanket to cover his crotch.  
In the meantime, Mycroft had grabbed the med-kit and on his way back stopped at the bedroom's door. He very quietly opened it and found both men fast asleep. He carefully took John's pulse and felt his forehead. It seemed to get better.  
He left the room and returned to Greg's side who was covered by a blanket now.  
“Are you in shock? You've got a blanket.” Mycroft said and it made Greg laugh. The sight took Mycroft's breath away and he slowly came closer. Again, he placed Greg's foot on his lap and had a closer look. Then he disinfected his hands and held it tight while starting to pluck out the shards. While doing so he pressed his fingertips and thumb into his soles and successfully distracted Greg.  
He was done rather quickly and added several band-aids. Then he walked into the kitchen and swiped away the shards. He even went down on his knees to have a closer look.  
“I think it's fine to step back on the hardwood now.” And he made the mistake to look up at Greg who returned his gaze.  
“Thank you. I mean it.” And he reached out for him. Very slowly Mycroft let him take his hand but he didn't move closer. Instead he smiled a sad smile.  
“Don't worry, we will figure it out.” And he once gently pressed his hand. Mycroft smiled back feeling better.

***  
John woke because he had to use the loo again. He kicked off the blanket and carefully sat up. He felt a bit better and reached for the tissue-box. Right then he spotted Sherlock on the armchair and it was such a sight, it made John's heart warm. He smiled. Then he sneezed and had to blow his nose. Everything of course woke Sherlock who jumped up being alarmed. He swayed for a second until he was able to focus on John.  
“What do you need?” He roughly asked. He slowly came around.  
“Just a trip to the loo. Again.” They looked at each other and Sherlock just helped him up.  
“You have lost weight, John.” Sherlock stated only to say something. John snorted and even his snorting was rough.  
Sherlock listened to John in the bath and hovered by the door until he came back out.  
“Would you like a snack? Or more tea? Or something cold? Whatever?” Sherlock asked helping John back under the blanket. He also took his temperature and looked rather pleased afterwards.  
“Looking good?” John asked.  
“Looking better.” Sherlock replied and noted his temperature.  
“I'd like a tea, please.” John said finally pulling up the blanket.  
“Nothing to eat?” John shook his head.  
“No, not yet. I don't think I can keep it inside and I don't feel hungry yet. So just tea it is.” Sherlock nodded.  
“I'll be right back.” Sherlock left the bedroom and found his brother and Greg looking at each other with goofy smiles plastered on their faces.  
“Urgh!” Sherlock said and went to prepare tea.  
“Jealous much?” Greg asked grinning. Sherlock looked over his shoulder.  
“Actually no, I am not jealous. I envy you. You have managed what I couldn't.” Then he shrugged and turned back to preparing the tea for John.  
Greg looked at his back. Then he stood and walked over after having held back Mycroft.  
“Listen, Sherlock. John likes you a lot. I know that. It's your turn to move. Make the step and admit your feelings.” Sherlock stored honey into the tea.  
“And make him run? No, never.” He shook his head.  
“I promise he won't run.” Greg said.  
“What happened to your foot?” Sherlock asked all of a sudden having looked on the floor instead at Greg.  
“I broke a tumbler and stepped into the shards. It's nothing.” Now Mycroft joined him.  
“I broke the tumbler. It was my fault.” He quietly said. Now Sherlock looked at his brother. Of course, he knew what had happened after a few seconds but he didn't say anything cruel. Instead he smiled.  
“Get a grip on yourself, Myc. If you can manage that, so can I.” He took the tea and returned to John's side.  
“What's going on? I sense drama.” John looked at Sherlock and he seemed to be a bit more focused.  
“My brother broke a tumbler and had to pick the shards out of Lestrade's foot. It's all fine.” He shrugged.  
“Do you want me to have a look? Was it bad?” John was worried and tried to get up.  
“No, you stay in bed and drink your tea. My brother, as I hate to admit, is very much capable of doing these things. With a brother like me he had loads of training.” Now he snorted.  
John relaxed a bit and took his tea from Sherlock.  
“Thank you. You take good care of me. Really.” John smiled and sneezed.  
“But I am not! I wasn't able to manage. I needed Greg's help and also my brother's! I am a horrible friend!” He pulled a face not wanting to cry again.  
“Stupid you! No one can manage the flu alone. And it's no weakness to accept help. You did fine!” John assured him. Sherlock looked at him and found he believed his words. And he shyly smiled.  
“Your words mean a lot to me.” He quietly said and sat on the bed wanting to be closer to John.  
“You taking care of me does mean the world to me. And I know I have said words I didn't really mean. I was mean to you.” He reached out and took his hand. He could feel his pulse racing.  
“It was the flu speaking. I know you didn't mean to be cruel to me.” He looked at his hand in John's.  
“As soon as I am back with the living, I will cook a fantastic thank you so much dinner.” John said.  
“Hurry up then because I am hungry already.” John still held his hand and Sherlock didn't go away.  
“Get me another tea, please?” Finally, John broke the spell and Sherlock quickly stood taking the mug from John's hand.  
“Of course, John.” And now he took the freedom to gently move the fringe from John's face. He smiled and enjoyed John's expression of pure joy.  
Outside he joined his brother in the kitchen.  
“I believe I just managed.”


End file.
